


A new season

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, F/M, Fluff, Morning Sickness, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 02:25:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6034516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapter 18 of the Mapmaker Series. A human woman joins the company of Thorin Oakenshield on the quest to Erebor as a mapmaker and finds a lifelong love.</p>
<p>Thorin and his wife get happy news.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A new season

The cooks had prepared the usual selection for breakfast – eggs, ham, sausages, cheese, apples, fresh bread – but even your favorites didn’t appeal to you that morning. You nudged a few bites of fried egg around your plate and nibbled a slice of bread before finishing your cup of tea and pushing your chair back from the table. As you stood, the room suddenly seemed to swim before your eyes, and there was blackness at the very edges of your vision as you dropped clumsily back into your seat, taken aback by your sudden loss of equilibrium. Thorin looked at you with concern. “Are you all right?” he asked, half standing, ready to come to your assistance. 

“Yes…I’m fine,” you smiled reassuringly. “I must have stood up too quickly.” He resumed his seat, and after a moment you got to your feet again, cautiously this time.

As soon as you opened your eyes the next morning, you felt uneasy. Tentatively sitting up, you had the same sense of having lost your bearings that had struck you so abruptly the day before, this time accompanied by a wave of nausea. You lay down again, curling up on your side, with a small groan that roused Thorin from his sleep. He rubbed his eyes and turned to you, immediately noticing your distress. “Are you ill, amrâlimê?” he asked. 

“I don’t know,” you answered, frowning. “Perhaps I’ve eaten something that didn’t agree with me.” 

“Do you want me to fetch Oin here?” 

“No,” you closed your eyes with a sigh, “I’m sure it will pass.” 

You were right. By early afternoon, you were feeling like yourself again, aside from a diminished appetite for supper, which, you assured Thorin, was likely just a lingering effect of being out of sorts in the morning. However, reaching into your wardrobe that evening for a nightgown, your eyes fell upon the basket of neatly folded cloths that you kept on hand for your monthly courses, and it suddenly struck you that you hadn’t used them this month. The more you thought about it, you weren’t exactly sure when you had used them last. Your heart seemed to leap into your throat as the possibility dawned on you at last, and you closed the wardrobe door softly, taking a calming breath and resolving to say nothing to Thorin yet.

Early on the third morning, you woke and had only enough time to seize the basin that stood next to the pitcher of water on your bedside table and lean over it. With a quick movement, Thorin was behind you, gathering all of your hair away from your face, rubbing your back soothingly as you took deep, steady breaths to recover. He carefully took the basin from your hands, returning it to the table, and began to pull on his clothes. “I’m going to get Oin,” he said adamantly. 

“Thorin, wait,” you said, holding out your hand to stop him. 

“Amrâlimê, you are sick. You need to see a healer,” he insisted. 

“Yes, I do,” you agreed, “but we need not drag him here at this hour. It is not an emergency.” 

“How can you be sure?” 

You took another slow breath. “Thorin, please, sit.” He sat beside you on the edge of the bed, taking your hand, worry plain on his face. “Thorin, I think…it is possible that I am with child.” 

Worry vanished from his face, replaced by astonishment. His mouth opened and closed, but he made no sound, and you couldn’t keep a small smile from your lips. Finally he seemed to collect his thoughts. “Oh, amrâlimê,” he breathed. “Do you really think so?” 

You gave a small shrug, saying, “women are often sick, and lightheaded…and there are other signs,” you added, your cheeks coloring slightly. 

He put his arm around your shoulders, gently pulling you close to kiss your forehead. “I can stop at the healing room on my way to the council and ask Oin to come and see you,” he suggested. 

“Thank you,” you nodded gratefully. 

He looked into your eyes, resting his warm hand on your cheek, and said, quietly, “come to me as soon as you’ve seen him.” 

“I will,” you promised, and the corners of his eyes crinkled in a happy smile.

You were ambling restlessly around the bedroom when Bila knocked on the door and ushered Oin in. “Thank you, Bila,” you called as the maid retreated, closing the door behind her. “Hello, Oin,” you greeted him with a smile, “thank you for coming.” 

“Not at all, my dear,” he replied, setting his bag down on the table near the fireplace. “What can I do for you? Thorin said you needed to see me.” 

“Yes, I wished to consult with you about some…symptoms I have,” you ventured, being sure to speak loudly. 

“What kind of symptoms, lass?” Oin asked, his eyes keen and concerned. 

“Well,” you began, nervously, “I am taken ill in the mornings – with retching – and I sometimes feel faint,” you paused, willing yourself not to blush, “and…I have missed at least one of my courses.” 

Oin gave you a knowing smile. “And you suspect you are with child,” he concluded. 

“Yes,” you answered, relieved, “that is what I suspect…what I hope,” you added shyly. 

He nodded. “I trust you will permit me to examine you?” 

“Yes, of course,” you assented, and he instructed you to lie down on the bed.

The silence in the room was deafening as he gently and thoroughly palpated your abdomen, and you could deduce nothing from watching his face. At last, he helped you to sit up again and smiled kindly at you. “Your suspicions are correct, my dear,” he said cheerfully. “You are indeed with child.” You gave a small gasp, and your hand went involuntarily to your stomach. “As to when the babe will come, it is difficult to say,” he continued. “I am told that human women carry for nine months, so it seems we can likely expect the birth sometime in the spring,“ he paused, thoughtfully, “perhaps a bit later, to account for the child’s dwarven blood. Still…so soon!” he marveled, accustomed to the longer pregnancies of the dwarrowdams. “Now,” he said briskly, “let me give you some herbs for the sickness.” 

He rummaged in his bag, coming up with a small packet, which he handed to you with instructions to brew its contents into tea, to be drunk in the mornings. “And may I say congratulations, my dear,” he smiled, “this is wonderful news for the two of you, and for us all…whenever you choose to make the announcement, of course.” 

“Thank you, Oin, and thank you for your discretion,” you said, clasping his hand, and he patted your hand in return. 

“Now I expect you’ll be wanting to go and see Thorin,” he suggested, and you nodded, smiling. 

“I’ll walk out with you.”

Thorin was in the Hall of the Kings, talking with the chief stonemason, when he saw you standing at the hall’s entrance. You saw him excuse himself, and he walked quickly toward you, placing his hand on the small of your back to guide you into the outer corridor, where you took refuge in a small alcove. When he was sure of your privacy, he turned to you, searching your face expectantly. “Well?” 

Despite the words you had thought of, little speeches you’d rehearsed, all eloquence failed you at the sight of the naked hope in his eyes, and you simply nodded at him, beaming. You heard him catch his breath. “You are-…there is a child?” 

You nodded again, your lips trembling slightly. “You’re going to be a father, Thorin.“ 

His emotion too great for words, he took you in his arms and held you tightly for a long moment. When at last he spoke, his voice was husky. “Amrâlimê…my own sweet love,” he murmured in your ear. His eyes shone with tears as he took your face in his hands and kissed you. “I love you so dearly,” he said fervently. 

“As I love you,” you replied, your vision blurred with your own happy tears. 

Thorin’s hand stole to your belly, and you laughed sweetly, placing your hand over his. “You can’t feel it yet,” you said gently. 

“No, but it is there, just the same,” he looked at you with wonder, “our child.” You smiled, your heart full. “When will it come?” he asked. 

“Oin thinks in the spring.” 

“We shall announce it soon, I will call for an assembly,” he beamed proudly, caressing your cheek with his fingers. “I want everyone to know that my beautiful Queen carries my child…let her be given the respect she deserves.” You kissed him in thanks, and he spoke more quietly, seriously, taking your hands in his. “You will have the best of everything. Anything at all that you need.” He looked solemnly into your eyes. “I promise I will take the very best care of you and the little one.” 

“I know you will,” you said, and you clasped him close as his strong arms enfolded you once more. “Our baby is the luckiest child in the world to have you,“ you whispered, “just as I am the luckiest woman.”


End file.
